The Conquest of Lady Cassandra (19 page)

Emma tipped one painting back to examine the one under it. “They are. Three are copies of old masters. Two are middling, but one is quite good. The rest are by the hands of respectable artists, mostly Dutch and English. He wants to establish regular weekly auctions by October. I have told him that he will have to do more than wait for consignors to come to him at parties in order to do so. He will have to aggressively pursue patrons and clients.” She looked over her shoulder. “That is not as much fun as making morning calls and going to assemblies.”

“Do you still expect to open your season in mid-September?”

“I think so. Marielle has promised those jewels, and also the cameos she brought to me last spring. We have been offered a large library too, and Aunt Hortense has said she wants to sell some of her objets d’art. My brother is turning up his nose at most of it, since he wants to auction only art, but even my father had not yet achieved that consistency, and it is unlikely we will do so for a long while, especially if we establish weekly sales.”

“You need agents who mingle with better than your brother does.”

“Like you? I have not forgotten that the best paintings in our last auction came to us through you.”

“Through my aunt, if we are particular about the details. Had Herr Werner not come to ask for the necklace back, I would never have had the chance to point him to you for consigning Count Alexis’s collection.”

Emma set the painting back in its stack. “How is your aunt? I have not seen her in so long now.”

“She is very well. Why do you ask?” Cassandra regretted her sharp tone as soon as the words left her mouth.

Emma was not easily hurt. From her expression, she also was not quickly put off. “At the party, your brother spoke of her not being well. You heard Hortense as well as I did. I only sought to be polite in asking after her, Cassandra.”

“No doubt Gerald expressed concerns in a most solicitous manner. No doubt everyone thinks he is a most generous and dutiful nephew.”

Emma opened the door, and they strolled into the cavernous exhibition hall. “From your words and your eyes, I think that the rumors of reconciliation at my party are much exaggerated.”

“For now, let the rumors stand, Emma. Allow your husband to think he succeeded where so many have failed. However, not only was there no reconciliation, there was almost a spectacular row out on the terrace. He has found
another man he wants me to marry, and he seeks to separate me from my aunt in order to encourage my agreement.”

Emma took her hands and squeezed them. “I am sorry to hear that. Not for myself, but for you. I had hoped he had softened his views.”

“Let us not talk of it. I much prefer helping you plot Fairbourne’s future. If I have any chance to send consignors your way, I will do so. I am not alone in finding the agent’s percentage helpful either.”

Emma nodded, while she eyed the gray walls of the hall. “You are probably correct. Now help me decide something. I think we should paint in here. What do you think?”

“You are not enthused enough about my idea. I think it is brilliant. With some discreet recruiting, you could have a dozen pairs of eyes assessing the paintings in country homes that they visit. In the least, you should recruit Ambury, who would be discreet. His expectations may be high, but he is still kept short of funds by his father.”

Emma squinted at the walls. “He has already found a way to supplement that miserly allowance, so he is not a good choice.”

“Being your agent is more secure than taking his chances at the tables.”

“Not the tables,” Emma said, still distracted by her walls. “Blue, I think. Not too dark or bright a hue though. It would have to be just the right one.”

“Blue it is. How is he enhancing his allowance, if not by gaming?”

The question confused Emma a moment, until she found the thread of thought in her mind. “You mean Ambury? Darius says he does investigative missions for people, very discreetly. He first did it as a favor for a friend, and proved to have the talent and found it interesting. Now he is sought out, and the most discreet compensation is offered for his services. You must not tell anyone, Cassandra. Promise you will not.”

Cassandra turned her own gaze to the walls, but the only color she saw on them was red. She did not fight her surging anger, because it kept in check another emotion that weighed inside her, thick and sour.

The scoundrel
. He was not merely curious about the history of the earrings. He did not only want to ensure there would be no embarrassment if he gave them to someone. He was
investigating
their history, which was another matter entirely. He was digging into their past for someone who had told him they were probably stolen. He probably had been hired to find the thief.

That was why he had gone to the pawnbrokers too. No wonder he was being so relentless about the whole matter. She had been a fool not to pay more attention to how odd his determination first seemed.

Even his kisses were part of the scheme. He had distracted her from the start with his flirting.

He had been pointed about confirming they had come from Aunt Sophie too. Which meant that now he was investigating her.

The thought horrified her. She thought she would be sick. If Ambury did this for pay, anyone might hire him.

Even Gerald.

“I wonder if a hue close to primrose would be better than blue,” Emma said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Do you think so?”

“Primrose would be lovely. It is the perfect choice. Now, might we go sit in the garden? I have a favor I must ask of you. It is a big one, I am afraid.”

T
he summons came that evening. Yates had not been formally commanded to attend on his father in months, so the footman’s message surprised him.

He set aside the map on which he was charting a visit to that disputed land on the southern coast. The plan had not
progressed far. Left alone with his thoughts, they turned to Cassandra too often. An hour would then be lost in memories of her firm, snowy breasts in his hand and his mouth, and of the adorable, arousing way she tried in vain to hold in her sounds of pleasure.

In the day since Kendale and Southwaite had alerted him that he had been seen leaving her house, nothing more had developed. That did not mean the story had not spread. Scandal could quietly pass around this circle or that for a long time before it emerged as a public spectacle.

It had been madness to try and take her. Ill-timed and ill-advised. Careless and ignoble on several counts.

She had just accused Lakewood of dishonorable behavior.

Had desire led him to grab at the chance to think the worst? Had he used those doubts as an excuse to have a way of possessing her? He only remembered his anger in a blink, turning into a different fury and succumbing to an urge to conquer the voice and person who had just threatened memories from half a lifetime. That he had wanted Cassandra Vernham almost as long hardly absolved him.

He was not above seducing a woman, but normally he planned it with more ceremony. There had been no planning at all this time, just the impulse to have what he wanted and the instinct to know he probably could.

He owed Cassandra an apology, unless he wanted what had happened to be an insult he neither intended nor wanted to stand. Before he went down to his father, he penned a quick note and gave it to a footman to deliver.

C
assandra found her aunt in the little library of their house with her face buried in a voluptuous collection of blooms that overloaded their vase.

“Heavenly,” Sophie sighed. “Roses and hydrangeas. What a lovely and unexpected combination.”

“Where did you get them?”

“A footman delivered them. Merriweather was putting them in this vase when I came in after supper. This came with them.”

Cassandra picked up and read the folded paper to which Aunt Sophie pointed. “I will call on you tomorrow. Please receive me. Ambury.”

Aunt Sophie shot her a sly glance. “Thank goodness he is not going to pretend it never happened. Men who do that are so annoying. One should not sin if one is not willing to own the sin.”

“It would be better if he did pretend. I do not expect any
weight on his conscience, but mere common sense says he should not call.”

“What nonsense. Flowers change everything. They absolve all presumptions. Had he pretended it had not happened, that would be insulting enough to call him out. If you had a male relative brave and honorable enough to do so, that is.”

Which she did not have. Perhaps Sophie was correct, and the flowers absolved any presumption or insult implied by that night. They did not truly alleviate either, however.

She had not conquered one whit of her suspicions about Ambury, and she really wished he had not sent these flowers.

“You must receive him. Will it be easier if I do as well?” Aunt Sophie asked. “I can sit with you when he arrives, and stay a few minutes.”

The offer astonished Cassandra. She embraced the dear woman who would leave the safety of her retirement in order to make the visit from Ambury less awkward.

She held Sophie a moment, smelling the lavender in her hair. She kissed her aunt’s cheek. “I can manage Ambury alone. I thank you for loving me enough to offer. I will receive him as you advise, this one time.”

Her aunt patted her face in approval, then buried her face in the huge bouquet again. Then Aunt Sophie picked up a basket and headed to the garden to tend her own blooms.

W
hen a man has seen a woman naked, it changes the way he views her forever.

Ambury noted the truth of that old lesson when he entered Cassandra’s drawing room.

She appeared proper, respectable, and even demure as she greeted him. He might have been Pitt coming to call, she proceeded so formally. Yet in her eyes he saw the same familiarity he felt, and he knew the ongoing sense of intimacy was mutual.

They continued to pretend it was not. He smiled and spoke as he might if this were a call on Southwaite’s wife. All the while, Cassandra’s clothes were peeling off in his mind until she sat on her straight-backed chair totally naked, with the hard tips of her breasts beckoning him to lick until she screamed from pleasure.

“I appreciate your receiving me today,” he said. “I need to leave town, and wanted to see you before I did.”

“More duties to your father’s estate?”

“Yes. A border dispute between tenants up north. He told me that he wants me to tend to it personally. He thinks it will accustom the tenants to accepting my authority.”

“How does he fare?”

“There has been a small revival that is heartening. It is subtle but visible.”

“That is good news.” She idly twisted her forefinger in a curl dangling down her shoulder. “If you came to learn if I have discovered more about the earrings, I fear I have nothing to give you. I am making inquiries, but to no avail. I think the month will end without more information for you.”

“That is not why I am here.” She knew it wasn’t. She had just let him know that she wondered if the two things—his interest in the earrings and his seduction of her—were in some way related, however.

She looked at him with those blue eyes, waiting. She appeared to be daring him to speak of it, and warning him not to at the same time.

“I need to apologize for importuning you the other night. It was reckless impulse, but that hardly excuses me.” There. It was done.

She thought over his words as if weighing each one. “So you had never planned on more than a stolen kiss or two? You had never thought about seducing me, despite your bald announcement the afternoon of Emma’s wedding?”

“I can see that you have decided not to make this easy for
me. As a gentleman, I must accept responsibility, of course, however you choose to interpret my actions and intentions.”

“Even though you do not feel totally responsible. Do you?” Her voice challenged him like someone looking for a good row.

“I do not engage in games of blame about such actions,” he said. “If you do, allow me to accept all of it.”

She studied him, as if trying to decide something important. Perhaps she only wondered if he were the least sincere.

“I accept your apology,” she only said. “Let us not speak of it again.”

“That may not be possible. There has been some talk about us. Did no one tell you that yet?”

Her face fell. A tiny panic entered her eyes, but it only lasted a moment before disappearing. “No. However, I have only seen Emma, and she is not yet a part of circles where talk would begin.”

“It is mild. Unformed. I expect it will all come to naught.”

“I am not too concerned. I will brave this out as I have before.”

She was taking it very well. Surprisingly so. “I will not permit lies to attach to you regarding what happened.” He stood to take his leave. “I will call on you when I return. We will see how things stand then.”

“You need only write. You do not have to call.”

“I will call on you anyway.”

To his surprise, she accompanied him to the door. They stood before it, mere feet from where passion had overruled good sense so recently.

She looked up at him after he made his bow. Neither her eyes nor her expression held the mocking humor that so often served as her shield. “Kiss me good-bye, Ambury, so we part as friends.”

It was her first acknowledgment of the intimacy that bound them now. Her first words that were not arch and
indifferent and spoken like a woman who gladly accepted being slightly notorious.

He lifted her chin and touched her lips with his. He lingered, because it had not entirely been a momentary impulse that night, and they parted now as more than mere friends.

“Go now,” she said, stepping back. “Duty waits and cannot be denied.”

He opened the door, then looked back at her. She stood in the shadow beyond the sunlight pouring through the opening. She gave him a vague, sad smile, then closed the door after him.

“H
ere is the letter for Ambury,” Cassandra said. “Here is the one for the lawyer, Mr. Prebles, who now holds the jewels. And this one is for you, in which I give you permission to auction the earrings again should I remain down at Anseln Abbey longer than initially planned.”